Twelve fleeting years ago my Myrt… (Ehu fugaces! maybe more) I wrote of the directoire skirt You wore. Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,

Bennie’s kisses left me cold, Eddie’s made me yearn to die, Jimmie’s made me laugh aloud,— But Georgie’s made me cry. Bennie sees me every night,

[“There are so many things I want… Said Abelard to Heloïse: “Your tresses blowing in the breez… Enchant my soul; your cheek allure… I never knew such lips as yours.”

It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar was at home, Sitting before his cottage door— Like in the Southey pome— And near him, with a magazine,

Although I hate A profiteer With unabat– Ed loathing; Though I detest

’Twas on the shores that round our… From Deal to Newport lie That I roused from sleep in a hud… An elderly wealthy guy. His hair was graying, his hair was…

When first I doffed my olive drab… I thought, delightfully though mut… “Henceforth I shall have pleasure… Solutely.” Dull with the drudgery of war,

A soft susurrus in the night, A song whose singer is unseen– ’Twere poetry itself to write ‘A soft susurrus in the night!’ I know, as those mosquitos bite,

Curly locks, Curly Locks, wilt th… Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor ye… But stand in the kitchen and cook… And ride every night in an automob… Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come t…

Horace: Book I, Ode 11 “Tu ne quaesieris—scire nefas —quem mihi; quem tibi—” AD LEUCONOEN Nay querry not, Leuconoë, the fin…

(An Apartmental Ditty.) Mine be a flat beside the Hill; A vendor’s cry shall soothe my ear A landlord shall present his bill At least a dozen times a year.

I remember, I remember The house where I was born; The rent was thirty-two a month, Which made my father mourn. He said he could remember when

I saw him lying cold and dead Who yesterday was whole. “Why,” I inquired, “hath he expir… And why hath fled his soul? ”but yesterday," his comrade said,

“C’est distingue,” says Madame La… ’Tis a fabric of subtle distinctio… For street wear it is superb. The chic of the Rue de la Paix— The style of Fifth Avenue—

Never mind the slippery wet street… The tire with a thousand claws wil… Stop as quickly as you will— Those thousand claws grip the road… Turn as sharply as you will—